The other night Paul started pacing around the house excitedly, talking, as usual, about whatever information was presently cluttering up his brain. Frequently that means baseball stats or facts about Genghis Khan, but on this particular night he was talking about writing.

"Do you know what I mean, Mom, when I say I write by rhythm?" he asked me.

I did fall off my chair. (This is not a metaphor. Embarrassing but true.) But of course I knew what he meant because that's how I write too.

"Do you mean," I asked, "that you hear the sound of what should come next but that you don't necessarily know what word it should be?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" he shouted.

This was an epiphany for both of us, a glorious moment of writerly parent-child bonding that was appropriately squelched when James remarked,

"You want to know how I write? I write by sarcasm."